Author Topic: Heath's friend, Scott Campbell the tattoo artist, is featured in NYMag this week  (Read 11487 times)

Offline Aloysius J. Gleek

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Very relevant info, no??   8)
(And more places to go a-pilgrimage-ing--see below!)



http://www.nytimes.com/2010/04/15/fashion/15Close.html


His rebelliousness inspired him to get his first tattoo — a skull on his leg — at 15, to his mother’s horror. “When I was a kid, she sat me on her lap and said: ‘Scotty, you could murder, and I’d still be proud to call you my son. But if you get a tattoo, I’ll shoot you myself,’ ” he recalled.



Up Close
Drawn to a Larger Scale


INKED Scott Campbell, a tattoo artist, will have a gallery show of his fine-art work. His life has
been a continuous line of adventure, starting when he was a teenager in the Louisiana bayou.


By ALEX WILLIAMS
Published: April 14, 2010

HOW did a 32-year-old college dropout from the bayou of Louisiana, with no formal training in art — well, to be frank, no training at all — end up with a one-man show in a New York gallery and a client list that includes Robert Downey Jr. and Orlando Bloom?


For Scott Campbell, it all started at a tattoo studio in the Lower Haight district of San Francisco. “I’m just the dirty kid who snuck in the back door,” said Mr. Campbell, who said that he got the bulk of his art education tattooing teenage gang members in San Francisco in the 1990s.

Indeed, as he sat in The Smile, a restaurant on Bond Street, with his friend Dan Colen, a fellow artist, and with his lank dirty-blond hair brushing the top of his collar and his ink-stained forearms peeking out of his shirt, Mr. Campbell looked like a kid in Salvation Army vintage who sells Minor Threat albums at Bleecker Bob’s — never mind that his button-down shirt was Loden Dager, that his jeans were from Earnest Sewn and that his lunky diver’s watch was a Rolex. (A family piece handed down to him by an uncle in the Navy Seals, Mr. Campbell explained).

And that tattoo career? It took off in 2005, four years after he moved to New York and opened his studio, Saved Tattoo, in the then-emerging neighborhood of Williamsburg, Brooklyn.

One day an impatient Australian came in and commissioned a small bird in flight on his left forearm. The next day, Mr. Campbell said, “Entertainment Tonight” came with cameras, grilling him on what kind of tattoo he had just given Heath Ledger. The two became friends — “the sweetest guy, so open,” he said of Mr. Ledger. “The third time I hung out with him, I had keys to his house.”

It became a pattern, as Mr. Campbell became something of a celebrity tattoo artist, charging as much as $300 an hour ($1,000 minimum) to ink customers like Courtney Love and Josh Hartnett. After Mr. Campbell tattooed three of Sting’s adult children, he said, the singer and his wife, Trudie Styler, put him up at their house in London when he was there for a gallery show in October (he said he paid Sting back by giving him a tattoo, a meditation labyrinth on his back). And he said he recently went gallery hopping with Marc Jacobs, who sports a tattoo of his two bull terriers on his shoulder, courtesy of Mr. Campbell. The nature of his craft, he said, helps to explain these friendships. “Tattooing is a very intimate exchange,” he said.

“You have your hands on someone, you’re communicating with them, and they’re very yielding,” he continued. “There’s no cool-guy factor, no barriers.”

IT’S easy to see why Mr. Campbell might have been welcomed into the inner circle of celebrity. He’s charming in a not-too-forced way, can fluidly swing the conversation from Greek art to the Dead Kennedys to motorcycles, and he has an appealing back story.

He grew up in rural Louisiana in a fishing village called Hermitage. “I hated it when I was a kid,” said Mr. Campbell, whose father owned a small oil-services company. As a teenager, he would order William S. Burroughs novels from New York and dream about the world beyond. “I felt like everything I was passionate about was something that was mail-order from somewhere else.”

His rebelliousness inspired him to get his first tattoo — a skull on his leg — at 15, to his mother’s horror. “When I was a kid, she sat me on her lap and said: ‘Scotty, you could murder, and I’d still be proud to call you my son. But if you get a tattoo, I’ll shoot you myself,’ ” he recalled.

Early on, Mr. Campbell toyed with the idea of a middle-class life. At the University of Texas he studied biochemistry and planned a career as a medical illustrator. Eventually, his restlessness took over. “I have the attention span of a gerbil,” he said. He dropped out, spent a few years in San Francisco, where he worked in that tattoo parlor, before bumming around Asia and Europe, where he tattooed for cash, and then landing in Williamsburg in 2001.

Inspired by the street sensibilities of artists (and tattoo clients) like Mr. Colen and Dash Snow, he dabbled in mixed-media art — United States currency (above) that he etches with a laser, for example — around 2004. The painter Michael Bevilacqua, a friend, encouraged him to exhibit his work in group shows, Mr. Campbell said. The work started to sell.

Last April, Mr. Campbell’s solo show at OHWOW, a gallery in Miami, sold out, said Al Moran , its director. It was evidence that Mr. Campbell had the stature needed to carry a solo show on April 29 at the gallery’s new space in Manhattan, on Crosby Street — its first since moving to the city. “All sorts of people were coming” to the Miami show, Mr. Moran said. “Tattoo kids were coming in, and museums were coming in.”

Mr. Campbell said he is nervous to show in New York. But added, philosophically, “If the art world shuns me, I can still do tattoos.”



Also posted in BetterMost Culture Tent:
http://bettermost.net/forum/index.php/topic,45655.msg572515/topicseen.html#msg572515
« Last Edit: August 12, 2012, 10:59:09 pm by Aloysius J. Gleek »
"Tu doives entendre je t'aime."
(and you know who I am...)


Cowboy Curtis (Laurence Fishburne)
and Pee-wee in the 1990 episode
"Camping Out"

Offline Aloysius J. Gleek

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Scott Campbell
If You Don't Belong, Don't Be Long
April 29 - May 30 2010




OHWOW Gallery
109 Crosby Street
(between Prince and Houston)
New York, NY 10012

MAP
http://www.oh-wow.com/


Also posted in BetterMost's Culture Tent:
http://bettermost.net/forum/index.php/topic,45655.msg572516/topicseen.html#msg572516
"Tu doives entendre je t'aime."
(and you know who I am...)


Cowboy Curtis (Laurence Fishburne)
and Pee-wee in the 1990 episode
"Camping Out"

Offline Aloysius J. Gleek

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http://nymag.com/restaurants/reviews/underground/66009/

The Underground Gourmet
A Store and More
Good food and great atmosphere make The Smile a perfect pit stop.

By Robin Raisfeld & Rob Patronite
Published May 16, 2010



The Smile  
(Photo: Hannah Whitaker/New York Magazine)

If ever the Underground Gourmet should find himself in the market for a VeloSolex moped, a badger-hair shaving brush, or a kit to knit Ms. U.G. a Wool and the Gang “Zion Lion” cap, he knows where to go. You can purchase all those things and more, you see, at The Smile, a hybrid general store and café a few steps below street level on one of Noho’s newly glitzy blocks. No one goes to The Smile, though, to shop. They go to sip espresso and nibble croissants. They go to eat and hobnob. And they do so in an artfully rustic atmosphere that must have been painstakingly cultivated but, to its credit, doesn’t come off that way.

The place started off last spring serving breakfast, lunch, and Rockland County–roasted Plowshares coffee to a young, stylish, arty crowd—the sort of self-selecting clientele drawn to similarly conceived places like the Earnest Sewn shop, where Smile co-owner Carlos Quirarte used to work, or Freemans (which it resembles, minus the taxidermy), or Vinegar Hill House in Brooklyn. There is an abundance, in other words, of vaguely hippieish people milling about in lumberjack shirts, hand-stitched moccasins, skinny jeans, lush whiskers, and tattoos (though [Scott Campbell's] tattoo parlor originally located in the basement has given way to office and prep space).

Like a growing number of New York coffee shops, The Smile recently added evening hours after receiving a wine-and-beer license, and dinner service still feels like a well-kept secret. The music is low, the tone conversational, and the waifish service overtly friendly. The chef is Melia Marden, and if you’d like to learn more about her, you can consult the winter ’09 edition of Me  magazine, tucked away among the various art books on display. It’s guest-edited by Marden, and filled with interviews of not only her friends and family (her parents are artists Brice and Helen Marden, her sister gallerist Mirabelle) but of the young cook herself. You’ll learn that she started cooking in college, opened a catering company shortly thereafter, and has a style that’s most influenced by her mother’s eclectic, informal dinner parties and the various exotic locales where the family lived and traveled. And it’s true—Marden cooks like an especially talented dinner-party hostess, re-creating taste memories of places she’s been and dishes she’s loved, and that’s meant as a compliment. The style isn’t so apparent at breakfast, perhaps, which stars a first-rate egg-ham-Gruyère-and-caramelized-onion sandwich, a morning dish surpassed only by the baked eggs with tomato, Manchego, and avocado at brunch. Lunch revolves around salads and sandwiches, and Marden has a flair for both: The Thai beef salad, though not what you’d find in Elmhurst, perhaps, is nonetheless delicious. A simple but graceful arrangement of Bibb-lettuce leaves and mandolined radish gets its elusive flavor from the celery-seed dressing. Sandwiches have personality, too, and are plated, mom style, with chips and pickles: There’s roast beef with horseradish cream, an exotic number with manouri and figs, and a honey-and-harissa roasted-chicken-breast sandwich that gives chicken-breast sandwiches a good name.

Things get more ambitious at dinner, when the dimly lit, wood-ceilinged space feels even more charming and tavernesque. There are little snacks to begin—goat cheese in olive oil and herbs, a terrific pickle plate featuring kumquats and cippolini onions, a trio of Greek-inspired dips. Entrées number only five, without a burger or mac-and-cheese among them. Tender lamb meatballs float in a ras-el-hanout-scented tomato sauce; roast chicken is coated in balsamic vinegar; cod stays moist in its parchment wrapper. The token vegetarian dish, not counting the daily pasta special, is a hodgepodge of cranberry beans, diced squash, ricotta, and a fried egg—more Laurel’s Kitchen than Silver Palate. The wine list is small, mostly French, and accessibly priced. And for dessert, we’re partial to the chocolate brownie served warm with a pitcher of vanilla cream to pour on top. For something a little different, you can try the dessert sandwich: chocolate and Brie on a baguette. It’s an unexpected, inventive combo that works, not unlike The Smile itself.



The Smile

Address: 26 Bond St., nr. Lafayette St. 646-329-5836
Hours: Monday to Friday 8 a.m. to 11 p.m.; from 10 a.m. Saturday and Sunday.
Prices: Salads, $8 to $13; sandwiches, $10.50 to $13; entrées, $14 to $18.
Note: Daily soup and pasta specials are often worth ordering; if your server doesn’t mention them, ask.
Ideal Meal: Chicken sandwich, Bibb-lettuce salad, and a brownie at lunch; marinated goat cheese and lamb meatballs for dinner.
Scratchpad: Two stars for the food, a decided step up from standard café fare, and another for the civilized, sociable vibe.

MAP



Also posted in Brokie Social Events Topic: A Rerun to New York 2 (july 2010)
http://bettermost.net/forum/index.php/topic,45443.msg572517/topicseen.html#msg572517
« Last Edit: May 18, 2010, 12:01:57 pm by jmmgallagher »
"Tu doives entendre je t'aime."
(and you know who I am...)


Cowboy Curtis (Laurence Fishburne)
and Pee-wee in the 1990 episode
"Camping Out"

Offline Aloysius J. Gleek

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http://newyork.grubstreet.com/2012/08/scott-campbell-new-york-diet.html


Artist Scott Campbell
Eats ‘Work Ethic’ for Breakfast,
Goes Crazy at Corton


By: Alyssa Shelasky
8/10/12 at 09:00 AM



"I've never used my oven for anything other than drying paintings..."
Photo: Melissa Hom



He's one of the best tattoo artists in the world (ask Marc Jacobs, Courtney Love, or Kanye), a proper art-world civilian, and the kind of charming and intelligent non-dirtbag dirtbag who moved to Williamsburg way before everybody else. But when it comes to food, Scott Campbell is no punk. "I was nervous at first that I might have to divulge all my weirdo dietary eccentricities," he told Grub Street. "But then I read some really wacky ones and realized I'm safe saying anything." Read about Campbell's dismissal of all things breakfast, many meals at the Smile, and the s'mores ice-cream cake that slipped away in this week's New York Diet.



Friday, August 3

Breakfast was on a fucking island! It was one year ago that I took Lake out on our first date. A very generous friend of mine loaned me his private island for a few days to celebrate the occasion. Conch fritters, tomatilla salsa, fresh fruit and rum punch.

Lunch was infinitely less cool: A "shape up" box on JetBlue. This included hummus and crackers, raisins, and a gingersnap cookie, which was a big thrill.

Dinner was at Marlow & Sons ... kale salad with brick chicken. I'll try a new spot about once a week, but I have my regular haunts and this is one of them. If it ain't broke ...



Saturday, August 4

Breakfast is for the lazy.

Ate lunch at the Smile — the best fucking granola. Really, the best thing to happen to granola since the invention of oats. Melia, their chef, can do no wrong in my book. She's not trying to reinvent the wheel by cooking quail eggs with laser beams, or freezing zucchini flowers with liquid nitrogen. She makes straight-forward, consistently perfect food for people who are hungry.

Dinner at Parm! Charred corn, chickpeas, broccoli rabe, meatball platter, and a side salad. I didn't go there, but I really enjoyed watching the guy next to me devour some s'mores ice-cream cake. I should have gone there.



Sunday, August 5

Breakfast? Not ever on Sunday.

Lunch was at Five Leaves. Started off with a kale salad with squash and feta. And then a burger. But "burger" really isn't strong enough a word for what they give you there. I have lunch meetings at Five Leaves all the time; today I was meeting with Maharam people about a wallpaper project I'm working on. It's a good gauge of how serious people are about working together if they're willing to come all the way to Greenpoint for lunch.

Had some Sunday ribs at the Smile for dinner. Braised ribs, Greek yogurt cole slaw, and homemade corn bread.



Monday, August 6

Breakfast equals 6 a.m. running sesh. I'm not good at gyms, but I run like a motherfucker — usually three to four marathons a year, so I'm always training for something. I was definitely the fat kid in high school, so I guess I started running to try to get as far away from that kid as possible. I don't really talk about it much. I'm sort of a closet runner.

Lunch was from Carino: veggie tacos, plantains, and a salad.

Dinner at Vinegar Hill House: garganelli pasta, chantrelles and corn, and roasted beets with avocado and hazelnuts. You cannot go wrong there.



Tuesday, August 7

Had some work ethic for breakfast.

Took my lunch date to Reynard at Wythe Hotel. Scrambled eggs with greens on the side, with chilled summer squash soup, then yogurt and a plum. I heard about that wine controversy but I've never ordered wine there. Maybe for fear of mispronouncing the names.

Dinner was at Roberta's, carrots with smoked ricotta. Fuck yes. Then romaine salad with walnuts and mints. Duck Hunt pizza, which is made with duck prosciutto, sweet potato, leek onion, and chile flake. There's a whole fresh crop of Brooklyn tattooed kids everywhere I go. I'm Williamsburg alumni at ripe old 35. Carlo, the chef, races motorcycles at the same track I do, so he and I get nerdy with bike talk a lot. Oh, and he's a culinary genius.



Wednesday, August 8

Breakfast. No one has time for breakfast.

Lunch was at the Smile, the Bibb lettuce salad with chicken and avocado. It's the most perfect salad this side of 34th Street. Sweet potato biscuits.

Had a big group dinner with a bunch of food lovers at [img=http://nymag.com/listings/restaurant/corton/]http://Corton[/img]. Paul knew what we were all about, so he laced us with a crazy tasting menu. Twelve courses of food that scored better on the SAT than I did.

I guess it sounds pretty indulgent now that I read over my week of eating out every night. But even though I've got a girl, I still have the refrigerator of a New York bachelor. Empty, save a bottle of Veuve and a half-full jar of mustard. I've never used my oven for anything other than drying paintings, so I just treat New York as my dining room.


Also posted in the Brokie Social Events thread
9/2012 NYC Gathering: "If There Is I Haven’t Found It Yet" with Jake Gyllenhaal!:
http://bettermost.net/forum/index.php/topic,49867.msg636870/topicseen.html#msg636870
"Tu doives entendre je t'aime."
(and you know who I am...)


Cowboy Curtis (Laurence Fishburne)
and Pee-wee in the 1990 episode
"Camping Out"